Private Landing Platform, Irdan 388-5216
18:00 May 19, YC 126
The Amarrian shuttle came in for a soft landing, unnoticed.
Almost.
In the shadows, Supervisory Marshal Kotai Iavoro lowered his binoculars as he nodded to himself. No spotters on the roofs or the streets. Not a single sign of prying eyes. Excellent. As he donned his fedora and ducked into a small sedan, he beckoned behind him with his right hand. A motley assortment of wheeled planetary vehicles and hovercars sped out of the secluded alley, forming up into a line that slid to a stop in a semicircle formation on the landing pad. Men and women in trench coats, with fedoras pulled low over their faces, swarmed out of the vehicles. As Marshal Iavoro exited his vehicle, he gave a thumbs up toward the shuttle. Slowly, with a hiss of hydraulics, the shuttle boarding ramp lowered.
Half a dozen agents dressed identically to their colleagues in the advance team exited first, hands drifting near their weapons. Marshal Iavoro nodded to his boss, Muhafez Marshal Aulegu Nudicoro, who led the diamond formation.
“We’re all set, sir,” the advance marshal said. “Drivers know the route by heart.”
“Excellent,” the head marshal replied, turning to the shuttle and giving a hand signal. A minute later, Duke Shasta Ardeind appeared, with Praetor Najir Darim at his side. “Okay, let’s move. Center vehicle, sirs.”
The two men ducked into a sleek, silver hovercar parked in front of Marshal Iavoro’s sedan, followed by the duke’s personal doctor, a thin, tall, balding Achuran. Marshal Nudicoro rode shotgun, as the rest of the agents in his team spread out and found spare seats in the caravan, which wheeled around and exited the way they came. The whole sequence took no more than five minutes.
Spaceport
Halfway across the colony, the chrome Dunijian yacht settled down on a VIP pad in the colony’s small spaceport, where it was met by a long procession of stately vehicles.
A marshal was one of the first down the boarding ramp. After surveying the spaceport, he nodded to his partner, shrouded in shadow at the top of the steps.
“Okay, Director. We’re all set. Press is yards away, and shouldn’t be able to get a good shot of your face. But let’s move fast, just in case, shall we?”
“Good idea. Front or rear?” The director of intelligence asked, still wearing his borrowed turtleneck sweater.
“Rear,” the marshal answered. “Keep that collar up.”
“Right,” the director said. He adjusted his collar, stood up straighter and nodded.
The marshal patted him on the back. “Looking good, sir. Let’s go.”
Central Governance Complex, Reception Atrium
Executive Adere Sugaoka laughed at a joke from the tall Brutor next to him. The mayor of a nearby mining colony inhabited mostly by escaped Minmatar slaves, Arelix Folki cut an imposing figure in his black, militaristic uniform.
“You always have the best jokes, Arelix! It’s great to see you,” the Caldari executive said, shaking the other man’s hand. “I’m sorry. Lots of guests, so little time.”
“Yes, yes, of course. In fact, let me introduce you to your next guest,” the Minmatar said, laughing as he grabbed hold of Executive Sugaoka’s right arm and pulled him towards the main door. “I saw Tavin arrive a couple minutes ago. And I’ve got some business with him anyway. Tavin!”
The tall Gallente waved before turning back to the clump of businessmen around him. He appeared deep in a presentation about something, using a tablet and elaborate hand gestures to help make his point.
“We’ll wait here,” Executive Sugaoka declared, pulling his friend to the side. “He’ll come over when he’s done.”
“That’s fair. Tavin’s drawn a good turnout. Great for you, isn’t it?” Mayor Folki released the executive’s arm and leaned against the wall to face him.
“Pros and cons, Arelix. Note for you, don’t accept the offer immediately if Tavin comes to you next time. Damn protesters are driving the Ironguard mad,” Executive Sugaoka warned. “I thought the complaining unions were bad enough. But at least they didn’t picket too much in the streets, and they sure as hell didn’t bring press with them.”
“Couple Pegeler papers that are really hack pieces and have limited range,” the mayor replied. “Won’t affect you too much.”
“Ironguard’s not happy that there’s press. Makes their job harder, they say,” the executive said, taking a furtive look around before continuing. “Ask me, it means they can’t beat up everyone they see. Damn riot guards are as brutal as Amarrian slave overseers.”
“You can’t control them?”
“Their loyalty is to their paycheck, which would be the Company. They defer to me, but I don’t doubt that if they see an opportunity to make more without me and the Company, they’ll take it,” Executive Sugaoka said. “Obviously, you never heard that. But beyond that, I’ve had issues with the guards. Kitamitada Karjaszer, that’s their boss, and I don’t get along. He’s too brutal for my tastes. Been pushing for a crackdown on the worker unions, and basically a full on military offensive into the tunnels.”
“The Mu’ad problem?”
“Yes. Company’s getting antsy about the equipment losses. I’ve been forced to triple the guard on our harvesters, and double the refinery night watches.”
“It’s that bad?”
“The attacks themselves aren’t too bad. They don’t steal that much ore in the grand scheme of things, and they don’t go out of their way to kill. But the suddenness of the attacks, that’s got the workers antsy. Quite frankly, they’re afraid, and that’s worsened the union problem,” Executive Sugaoka sighed. “Hopefully I’ll make some deals this week for some mercenaries or hardware that’ll help deal with those tunnel bandits. Well, here comes Tavin.”
“Adere, Arelix! It’s great to see you!” Tavin said, weaving through the mass of businesspeople. He shook the hands of the two colony governors as he sidled up alongside them. “First PPC summit, and it’s already a resounding success!”
“What were you selling this time?” Mayor Folki asked immediately.
“So direct,” Tavin said, clapping his hand to his heart in a feigned display of indignation. “No greetings, none of that?”
“No,” Executive Sugaoka said, straight-faced.
“Fine. Fine. Cache of gemstones an associate of mine uncovered, and shares in a planetside mine, and shares in an asteroid mine, and … ,” Tavin said, reeling off a shopping list of mineral assets.
“Alright, alright, we get it,” Mayor Folki said, exasperated. “We get it, you’re a tycoon.”
“Hey, y’all asked. Ahh, forget it. None of it is in Eugales, and the mines don’t compete with you anyway. They produce uranium and tritanium, not isogen,” Tavin said. “Alright, let’s talk about something fun, shall we? Y’all make any deals yet?”
“Not yet,” the executive replied. “You know any folks with military hardware I can talk to?”
“Unfortunately, no. None that are here, anyway, which is what you were asking for,” Tavin replied. He thought for a moment. “Two merc companies are coming over. They’re not in the PPC, but I thought I could make some introductions. I know you guys could use more muscle, and they’re pretty good. I think they arrive tomorrow, though. They’re busy helping defend Upwell assets right now, or so I heard. I do know of a shipyard that’s looking for more isogen … .”
“You know my ores are spoken for, Tavin,” Executive Sugaoka said. “Hmm … Maybe you can work something out with Arelix?”
“I was going to talk to you about finding some suppliers. We’re projected to have some isogen surplus,” Mayor Folki said. “Does this shipyard produce haulers?”
“Nothing interstellar, but if you’re looking to bolster your system-side transportation capability, yeah, they make some good stuff,” the mining tycoon replied. “But they mostly make patrol craft. Corvette and frigate sized.”
“I could work with that … ,” Mayor Folki mused as another Caldari sidled up next to Executive Sugaoka.
“Boss,” Operating Officer Agai Nintz whispered.
“One moment, please. Discuss your deal. I’ll be right back,” Executive Sugaoka bowed out of the conversation and stepped to the side to converse with his second in command. “What is it?”
“We just received word. Duke Shasta Ardeind is expected to arrive in approximately eight minutes,” the operating officer said. He checked his watch and nodded. “Yes, eight minutes now.”
“I thought Ironguard said that the motorcade is still fifteen minutes away?” The executive asked as he began making his way into the gargantuan welcoming hall.
“Yes, and it will take longer because they ran into a worker protest. But the duke’s not in his motorcade,” the other corporate officer commented, jogging to try and keep up with his boss’ long strides.
Executive Sugaoka stopped, turned, and grabbed Officer Nintz’ arm, pulling him close. He hissed, “What?!”
“Ironguard was just informed by the duke’s detail. Vasio is livid,” the operating officer said. “The duke’s traveling incognito in a procession of unmarked vehicles. Ironguard’s sent a couple bike units to try and run an escort.”
Executive Sugaoka swore under his breath. “What does this bastard think he’s doing?”
“He’s a capsuleer, sir, they take security seriously.”
“That’s not a good thing. Damn capsuleers are a pain. Especially that Laura fellow. The wolf-lady,” the executive said, shivering slightly. “Only reason he’s here is because Tavin likes his money. That’s it. I’ll be happy to see him gone.”
“What do you want to do?”
Executive Sugaoka took a long, deep breath before continuing to stride quickly towards the entrance hall. He spoke over his shoulder, “Assemble the honor guard and draw them up in the entrance hall. Start recalling some of the Irongaurd on the motorcade, a decoy doesn’t need that much protection. And pull some Ironguard together, have them start running security sweeps along the perimeter with the guests’ security details. Make sure some of the Venal marshals are involved. This duke is so concerned with his safety, we’ll give him some theater.”
Outside the Central Governance Complex
“Who are we?” Mayor Isaribel Naralfe asked the cheering crowd. The mayor of a minor mining colony called ‘Roid-Town, she had entrusted control of the colony to a committee of advisors for the week in order to lead protests against the Pegeler Prosperity Committee during their loudly advertised, heavily publicized summit.
“Pegeler!” The crowd responded.
“Who’s the PPC?”
“Greedy pieces of ■■■■!”
“Do we approve?!”
“Hell, NO!” the crowd shouted in unison.
“What do we want?” another protest organizer shouted.
“A seat at the table!”
“A share of the profits!”
“A Pegeler for Pegeler!”
“I didn’t hear you!” Mayor Naralfe shouted in a sing-song voice. “Louder!”
“Isaribel, we got more vehicles coming in!” a local protest organizer shouted up at her. The mayor turned, tiptoeing to try and get a better view. Indeed, half a dozen planetary vehicles were turning off the Main Road into the Central Governance Complex.
“Pegeler!” the mayor shouted to get the attention of the crowd. “Another bigwig’s arrived!”
Central Governance Complex, Entrance Gates
“Who are those?” Duke Shasta asked, pointing across the road as he exited his vehicle. Marshal Nudicoro turned to look in the indicated direction, using sophisticated ocular equipment in his sunglasses to zoom in on the mass of people.
“Looks like protesters. Yeah, that’s what the advance team was warning us about. Anti-PPC protesters.” Nudicoro keyed his radio. “Muhafez to all marshal units. Heads up. Protest group, opposite entry gates. Approximately fifty pax. No weapons in sight. Out. Alright, milord. Let’s go inside.”
Praetor Darim led the way, with Marshal Nudicoro following closely behind the duke, hand near his back to drag his protectee away in the case of danger. They were followed by a couple agents, but most of the marshals, including the tactical team who were disembarking from the hovertruck at the back of the hodge-podge caravan, remained outside for the time being.
At the same time, at Saraki’s Cafe, Main Road
The man looked unremarkable. A Civire, dressed in typical miner’s wear, a knapsack and handheld mining laser hanging from the back of his chair. He held a coffee in one hand, and a fork in the other, and was mindlessly picking at the salad before him. His eyes were glued to the tablet set up in front of him, which displayed a live news feed of the Duke of Beseth Dunijia’s motorcade as it crawled down Main Road.
The procession included a dozen identical, unremarkable unmarked vehicles that bristled with antennas and the telltale bulges of aftermarket armor plating, surrounded by marked Ironguard hoverbikes and cruisers. However, none of these were the focus of the camera. No, the camera was steadily following the two elegant, close topped hovercruisers that drifted in the center of the procession. Painted in Duchy red-and-black, they, too, bore the signs of aftermarket armor plating, but the bodywork had been artfully done with the bulges transformed into flaring that made the vehicles more, not less, elegant.
Not a single person bothered the man, however. He had sat there for hours, but no staffer came to ask him to leave. After all, many others had done the same as him, and not a single one had paid him any attention. Every single person in the packed cafe, staff included, watched the motorcade, either on their own devices, or on the massive holo that played on the far wall. Some people were already fighting near the windows, jockeying for the best view.
But this man was not like the others. In his ear, hidden under his carefully arranged mop of hair, was a slim earpiece. A transmitter had been surgically implanted into his tooth. And with a swipe of his finger, he was able to display a miniature map of the Main Road. A procession of blue dots slowly marched down the long thoroughfare, creeping closer and closer to the ominous red diamond that awaited it.